Departure: Follow Her
by hotchityhotchhotch
Summary: Second in the Departure series. Two parts. After leaving her apartment, Emily calls Hotch to say goodbye before she runs for her life. COMPLETE.
1. Meeting

**A/N: Second in the "Departure" series. Completely independent of "Departure: One for Each Word." This is assuming 6x15 ("Today, I Do") didn't happen. This starts where the end of 6x14 ("Sense Memory") left off, with Emily leaving her apartment. **

Emily felt like she hadn't taken a single damned breath since she'd left her apartment. She sat in her car now, almost gasping for air, as if that would be an appropriate apology to her brain for starving it of oxygen. Everything swam around her for a moment. Her cat, Sergio, meowed at her, either to let her know he was there for her, or to let her know he was hungry or needed some other sort of baser need met.

"Sorry, buddy," she whispered, putting him down into the passenger seat. A moan escaped her chest as she closed her eyes and leaned into her seat. "What am I doing?" she asked herself aloud. As if she were any safer in her car in a dark alley than in her apartment. She was definitely in more danger here, she realized. She started up her car and pulled out onto the main road. keeping an eye on her mirror to make sure she wasn't being followed. She couldn't even control her suddenly trembling fingers enough to operate her phone, so she used a single button to activate its voice dial.

"Call…Aaron Hotchner," she said shakily.

"Name not recognized," the soft feminine voice from her phone told her.

She growled. "Call Aaron Hotchner," she said with much more clarity.

"Calling Aaron Hotchner," the voice replied politely, if automated voices could be polite.

"Hotchner," he answered on the second ring.

"Hotch, it's—" Emily's words got lost somewhere and she had absolutely no idea where to start looking for them, not until she heard his voice again.

"It's late. What's going on? Is everything all right?"

"No…No, it's not. Listen, can you meet me somewhere?"

"I'm…in my pajamas," Hotch said tentatively. "Why don't you stop over here?"

"I can't come to your place. Meet me at Doyle's or Dale's or whatever the hell that place is called. Wait, you have Jack. Shit," she hissed.

"No, I don't. I didn't pick him up from Jessica's—we got back too late tonight."

"Okay, good. Listen, I'm on my way to the bar. Delete all contact information for your family from your phone."

"What—why?" Hotch's voice echoed. Emily guessed she was on speaker phone while Hotch changed clothes.

"Because you're putting yourself in danger by meeting up with me." For only half a moment, it hit Emily that she hadn't even thought of this. That other half a moment she spent coming to the quick conclusion that Hotch would have met her under _any_ circumstances if she'd asked him to. Even if it meant his death.

"Emily, what the hell is going on?"

Ever since she had found out Ian Doyle was on the loose, off the grid and, ultimately, after her, Emily had been calm and collected. She had taken the necessary precautions to protect herself, because she was terrified, but she'd held it together completely. But hearing Hotch concerned about her made tears of not fear, but guilt and anger, well up under her eyes. _I shouldn't be involving him_, she told herself. _I should just disappear._

"Just…meet me. Come armed just in case."

"What the—"

"Hotch, be honest with me. Are you apprehensive at all about putting yourself in danger?"

"Only because of Jack," Hotch said frankly. "But I don't—."

Jack's round little face appeared in front of Emily's mind's eye and she shook her head violently as she hopped on the freeway.

"No. Then don't come. Never mind."

"Too late. I'm on my way out to the car," Hotch said. Emily could hear his footsteps as he jogged.

"Hotch, wait, no. I shouldn't have called," Emily said with deep regret.

"Yes, you should have. We'll both be fine. I'll see you in ten minutes."

"Okay." Emily regretted not adding a "thank you" once she hung up, but what Hotch was about to do for her—possibly put his life on the line—deserved far more than a thank you. She didn't know how she could ever repay him.

She beat Hotch to the pub where they had shared a beer or two upon arriving home from a case several months ago. Seven minutes had gone by in the car with her heart pounding in her head as she watched behind her, pretty sure no one was trailing her, but terrified all the same. Once she was tucked away into the back corner of the dark pub, holding a beer she knew she wouldn't drink, she felt slightly calmer. Protected. Three members of a biker gang sat around a table a few feet away. Sure, heft was no protection against a bullet, but the presence of the three oversized men was oddly reassuring anyway. At minute number ten, Hotch rushed through the front door as promised, in blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. He immediately spotted Emily's ghostly pale face.

"Hey, buddy," the bartender shouted somewhat nervously. "No guns, what the hell you doin'? Want me to call the cops? Get the hell outta here."

Hotch reached deftly into the chest pocket of his jacket and pulled out his credentials, which he flashed at the bartender without even looking at him. His eyes were pasted onto Emily, whose gaze alternated between Hotch and the appeased bartender. _He hardly even looked. Anyone can walk around with fake creds and a gun, can't they?_ She wondered.

"Hey," she said quietly when Hatch sat across from her in the booth. The three bikers took turns staring not so subtly.

"What's going on?" Hotch asked, almost out of breath. _What, did he _run_ here?_ Emily marveled.

Emily, feeling the eyes of their onlookers, scooted in toward the wall and Hotch followed suit. "I'm in danger, Hotch."

"That much I surmised. Details. Now."

Emily shook her head firmly. "I can't tell you anything. It's not safe for you to know."

Hotch was furious, not because Emily wouldn't divulge any information, but because he knew she was right. He would give anything to be able to help her, to know enough to protect her, but he knew why she couldn't tell him and knew no way around it. Her stubbornness definitely wouldn't fail her this time. It rarely did.

"Then what can I do?"

Emily pushed her unwanted beer toward Hotch and dragged both her hands down her face. "I shouldn't have called you. It was selfish," she mumbled into her palms, eying Hotch with more remorse than he'd ever known a human being could feel, even himself.

"I would have been upset had you not called. Listen to me." Hotch cast a sideways glance at no one in particular and took both of Emily's hands in his. "What's going on?" he asked, shaking their bundle of hands with each word, as if to rustle her out of a light sleep.

"I'm pretty sure somebody's after me. Someone from an undercover job I was on before I came to the BAU. Promise me that you won't go digging for more."

"I'll make no such promise. You know better than to ask that."

"You didn't argue with me when I said I couldn't give you any details."

"True, but once I can get the team on this, we can find things out, do things the right way, find out who this is, covertly, keep each other from harm."

"Don't," Emily grumbled, snatching her hands away as some sort of punishment.

"Then tell me something I _can_ do," Hotch said, with no intention whatsoever of following Emily's orders.

Emily rolled her watery eyes and decided she wanted that beer after all. She took a sip while she thought. "Tell me we're friends."

Hotch's already wrinkled-with-years-of-worry forehead creased even more deeply, his hazel eyes all but disappearing under his downturned brow. "Of course we're friends. Why would you think any differently?"

Emily shrugged, passing the green bottle from one hand to the other. "I've just felt over the past few months that we've, I don't know, grown apart. I thought we were a good team but you send me off with Morgan all the time now, and I love him like family, but—" Emily found herself laughing and didn't try to suppress it. "—I really can't take much more of him."

Hotch's tight demeanor softened considerably. "These aren't things we should be talking about right now," he said. "Aren't there more important things, like how we're going to keep you safe?"

"There's no _we_ in that, Aaron. And don't _look_ at me like that. You have a first name. If you can call me Emily then I can call you Aaron. Anyway, this is _my_ problem, and _mine_ to deal with. I just needed to make sure that I didn't say or do something to hurt or anger you, or push you away. I've been worrying about that, and I think I could clear my head a bit if you assure me that nothing like that happened." Who the hell was she kidding? She had no such reason for wanting to see him. She literally just wanted to see him. Look at him, hear his voice one last time before she went on her way.

Hotch swallowed and sighed, shouldering off his jacket to reveal the dress shirt he'd worn that day, unbuttoned. "You didn't push me away." That was as far as he could go right now. Matters of life and death trumped matters of the heart, but even telling Emily that much would distract her, would have her guessing.

"Then why the distance, why the avoiding me?"

"Don't think of it as avoiding you. I just…I trust Morgan with you. Not to imply that you can't take care of yourself, but I'm living, breathing proof that you never know what might happen. Two heads are better than one."

"You don't trust _yourself_ to keep me safe?" Emily asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"You're in danger, and you want to talk about _this_?" Hotch asked incredulously.

"For all I know, this might be the last time I see you—"

"You're not going anywhere," Hotch's voice rumbled across the table just loudly enough for Emily to pick up.

"I have to, Hotch. This isn't a situation where I can stay with you guys. We can't work this like we did Foyet. This is even more dangerous."

"Do you know who it is that's after you? What they want?"

"I know exactly who it is and all I know about what he wants is that…" Emily drew in a quivering breath and stared at Hotch apologetically before finishing. "…He wants me dead. In a very bad way."

"How is this more difficult than Foyet if you _know_ who this is and he's at least on the move? Am I assuming correctly?"

"He's on the move, yes. But he's off the grid, just like Foyet. And he's worse than Foyet because he has connections. Foyet operated alone. This man most certainly won't be on a solo mission. Maybe overtly it'll seem that way but he'll have the help of many. I'm already telling you too much." She covered her mouth hastily.

"No, you know what? At first it sounded reasonable for you to keep things a secret, but the more you tell me, the more ridiculous that prospect sounds. _I can help you if you just let me._"

"You have helped me. You set my mind at ease. I was worried I'd scared you off, and you're saying I didn't, right?"

**A/N: Part 2 coming soon! Please leave a review if you have just a spare moment.**


	2. Leaving

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews on part 1; here's part 2!**

"Again with this," Hotch spat. "Why is this even on your mind?"

Emily took Hotch's hands this time. They were cold and clammy. "You've been my best friend for a long time, whether you've known it or not. Yeah, JJ and Garcia are great, and I love them to pieces, but I've never been the girlfriend type for some reason. You…you get me," she said with unbridled passion. "You've kept me sane."

"I think it's been more the other way around," Hotch countered.

"You can argue if you want to, but I don't really care. I just need you to know before I go that I appreciate you. You're _such_ a good person, and—God, I don't know where this is coming from." She groaned and rolled her eyes. "I'm really glad I got to know you." Hotch's eyes were filled with so much hurt that she knew it was only a matter of moments before she cried real tears for him. Maybe even for herself.

"I can't let you do this alone," Hotch said. "You don't _have_ to do this alone. Don't you trust us?"

"This man, this group, is unlike anyone we've ever faced, Hotch. The people we hunt usually work alone or in pairs, and we can build profiles on that and find them before they strike. This is completely different. But I swear this isn't a suicide mission. When I say I might not come back it's just because I'm being realistic, not because I'm going to be stupid. And there's also the possibility that I'll evade him but to do that I'll have to go into hiding. If I _do_ come back, it will only be once he's six feet under or floating down a river, and I don't know how long that might take."

"I can't listen to this anymore," Hotch said. "Come on. We're going to the BAU," he muttered, pulling her by the hands as he slid out of the booth and stood up. She allowed him that much, but wouldn't let him pull her toward the front of the pub.

"Hotch, I need to leave. Alone," Emily said, attempting to free her hands but finding the effort fruitless. Hotch held onto them for dear life and they were soon on the verge of falling asleep.

"You're not going anywhere alone."

"Yes, I am. I need you to promise me you won't come looking for me."

"No," Hotch said firmly.

"What are you going to do, cuff me and throw me in the trunk of your car?" Emily lashed out. The bikers had already been eying them curiously since they had gotten up so suddenly, but now one of them frowned and cracked his knuckles.

"He givin' you any trouble, miss?"

"No," Emily said with an placating smile. Then she scowled at Hotch. "Let me go. I need to go."

"Why the hell did you call me then, if—"

"Because you're the one person in the world that I needed to say goodbye to," Emily whispered, biting her lip to try and stop the tears. The very same lip she bit was soon accompanied by Hotch's. He'd let go of her hands and had braced her face with his palms as he firmly pressed his mouth against hers. When Emily didn't push him away, he backed away for a split second and dove back in, opening his lips to her, waiting for her to open up to him. She did, just slightly, gripping his arms as she did, her eyes shtut tight, sighing at the feel of his tongue just teasing her lower lip, his thumbs pressing into her cheeks hard enough to leave marks.

It wasn't long before she pulled away for good, hardly able to focus on his face when she opened her eyes. "What was that?"

"I'm giving you a reason to stay," Hotch said, his eyes searching deep within Emily's for a sign as to whether it had been enough.

"I—I care about you, Aaron. More than you know—"

"Then _don't run_."

"That's exactly why I _have_ to run." Emily took one of Hotch's hands and enveloped both of hers around it, letting him keep his other hand on her face. "Please, understand that. Put yourself in my shoes."

"That's not fair."

"Yes, it is," Emily said with new found calm. "If you were in danger, would you want me involved?"

"No, but—" A solitary tear blazed a trail down Hotch's weary, splotchy face.

"Then you can understand why I have to go."

"Then think of the kiss as a reason for you to come back no matter what, at all costs," Hotch said desperately.

Emily smiled gently as she matched Hotch tear for tear. Her first one fell, and then his second fell, and then her second. "I already had a reason."

"Then it was a reminder."

Despite their circumstances, Emily chuckled softly, then drew in a deep breath before wrapping her arms tightly around Hotch's neck. He embraced her as if letting her go would certainly spell out the end of him.

"Is there anything at all I can do to change your mind?" Hotch inquired in one last-ditch effort to lure her over. "I'll do anything you want. Please, I'm begging."

"No. I'm sorry. I'm going to leave now. Here are my car keys. I need you to take Sergio. He's in my car. Keep him if you want, or give him to someone who'll take care of him. Maybe Garcia will take him, even. Stay away from my place, though." Emily forced her keys into Hotch's hand and closed his fingers around them. "I'm going to try my best to go off the grid. Stay here half an hour after I leave, and be on the lookout. Don't even go home tonight. Did you delete all the personal contacts from your phone in case someone figures out you were with me and—"

"Yes." Hotch's heart was sinking faster and faster. Emily making plans meant that she hadn't even come close to changing her mind.

"Good. I emptied my own phone on the way here. Get a hotel room far away from Jessica and Jack for the night. Don't call her unless you absolutely have to, and if you do, use a payphone—"

"Emily, I know all of this," Hotch struggled to say, pulling her close again while he combed his fingers through her hair his cheek against hers. "I know how to keep myself safe."

"And so do I."

Hotch's lip quivered when Emily pried herself free from his grasp.

"Goodbye, Aaron. I'm sorry it had to be like this. Send everyone my love," she said with one last regretful glance.

Hotch shook his head and reached for Emily's hand, but she slipped away. He followed her instinctively, but she must have known he would, and turned on her heel. "Don't follow me!" she shouted, purposely trying to make him seem like an unfriendly male stranger.

The suspicious stares registered perfectly well with Hotch as the door swung closed behind a whoosh of Emily's crisp hair. This wasn't about trust for him. Of course he trusted that Emily knew not to do anything stupid, to keep herself safe, but only within her means. There was only so much she could do alone, especially if this man was as well-connected as she made him out to be. She was far outnumbered.

No, this wasn't about trust, or about Emily's abilities. This was about him being utterly incapable of watching her walk away. She wouldn't lose him that easily. Everyone in the pub eventually went back to their own business.

"Your lady forgot her phone. You gonna follow her?" a burly voice sounded behind him. He turned and saw three hundred pounds of bearded, leathery man. A beefy hand passed him Emily's phone. Hotch cursed at her under his breath.

"Yes, and I don't think she forgot it, but thank you," Hotch said simply, hoping that no one would think that he'd needed that stranger's convincing to go after Emily, that he was that cowardly. He'd already made his choice, but he needed to make sure he left Emily enough time on her own to believe that he was following her orders, not following _her_. When he went outside a couple of minutes after she had, he saw her foot disappear into the back seat of a yellow taxi and the door shut behind her. He stood stock still in the shadows under the overhang on the front of the bar, his mostly open dress shirt over his worn t-shirt not providing much shelter against the chilly breeze. He couldn't go back in for his jacket, though. Once the taxi was a block away away, he cursed the stupid cat, grabbed him from Emily's car, which was parked right in front of his, then got back into his own car, waited until the taxi was _barely_ within his sight, and pulled around Emily's car and onto the mostly empty street.

—

Emily craned her neck and looked out the back windshield. She saw a car right behind them, but it wasn't Hotch's, and she saw no other cars._ Thank God_, she thought. _The man actually listened._ Relieved, but at the same time deeply wounded and terrified, wishing more than anything that Hotch could be with her but safe at the same time, she reached into her purse for her Swiss army knife. Doyle already must know what she looked like now, so she pulled taut a chunk of her shoulder length hair and sliced the blade through it in a clean line, tossing the ends on the floor of the car. Anything to make her look different had to improve her chances.

"Hey, hey, hey, what the hell you doing, lady?" the foreign cabbie protested, throwing his hands momentarily into the air.

"Sorry, I'll throw a really good tip your way," Emily said, scooting to the middle of the seat to use the rear-view mirror to do the rest of her hair. It looked awful, but she had enough money for a good wig if she needed it, or at least could do a better cut and dye once it was safe for her to take time to do so.

"Where we go, anyway?" the driver asked.

Emily looked warily behind them again. Hotch's sedan was black, but its headlights were unmistakable, even from a couple hundred yards away.

"I don't know yet, but do you see that black sedan a ways back? In the other lane?" She moved to the side so the cabbie could use all his mirrors. He nodded. "Hundred bucks if you can shake him. And if we can stop at an ATM after that, that'd be great."

"You got it, lady. Does he have gun, though? I don't want get into that shit," his voice rolled.

"He's not dangerous. Don't worry. Just lose him."

—

Hotch was having a hell of a time keeping himself from tailing the taxi more closely, fighting his urge to be closer to Emily. The thought of rear-ending her cab, forcing her to stop so he had more time to convince her she was making a mistake, even crossed his mind. But this was Emily. She wouldn't be persuaded that easily. She would run again, somehow, someway. But if he could at least watch her from afar…

But suddenly, the cab put considerably more distance between it and Hotch's car, causing Hotch to put the pedal to the medal reflexively. Sergio mewled worriedly from the passenger seat. "Don't worry," Hotch said, too focused on keeping up with the taxi to worry about the fact that he was talking to a cat, or the fact that his face was soaked with tears. "I won't let anything happen to her."

The cab made a left turn far ahead of Hotch, and by the time Hotch got to the same light, it was red, and there was too much traffic to run it safely. "_Damn it!" _He threw his body weight into his car horn, flashed his high beams on and off, and veered through the oncoming traffic. By the time he'd made it through and left several angry drivers behind him, the cab was nowhere to be seen.

**The End.**

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading...I know, I know, it's depressing. I find it so hard to write her out in a happy way. I will try to think of at least one happy way. In the meantime, please leave a review and let me know what you think of this one! Thanks :)**

**SEQUEL IS UP! It's called "The Postcard." Please go read and review :)  
**


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